


a double-edged sword

by skatingsplits



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Murder Girlfriends, F/F, Georgina is alive please don't question it, Timeline? What Timeline?, i truly don't know what I'm doing, immodest orgasms, post: The Vile Village, randy financial advisors, sarcastic optometrists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14259999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingsplits/pseuds/skatingsplits
Summary: When things in the Village of Fowl Devotees don't quite go to plan, Esmé needs something to take her mind off things.





	a double-edged sword

**Author's Note:**

> subtitle: I have too much time on my hands and am too gay to function

If you have ever been denied something you really wanted, you’ll understand the meaning of the word “frustration”. If, however, you’ve lived a life of ease and satisfaction, you may need to be informed that frustration is a word which here means ‘the feeling that comes from the lack of fulfilment of an expectation’. For some people, frustration may be caused by being beaten at a game of croquet or discovering that your exhibit of croquet-themed photographs has been given unfavourable reviews by a bitter art critic. For others, frustration may arise from the failure to prevent the spread of fire in a particularly informative library. On the other hand, for a slightly smaller number of people, it is the prevention itself which can cause frustration to burn in the stomach like flames have not been allowed to do in the library. If you are reading this, it may not surprise you to learn that Esmé Squalor belonged to the latter group of people.

As you’ll know if you’ve ever been unlucky enough to be thoroughly trounced at croquet or be belittled by the arts and leisure section of the morning paper, there are very few effective methods of alleviating frustration. You might propose a rematch, although there is no guarantee that you would be more successful at hitting balls through a small hoop the second time than the first; you might write an angry letter to the editor of your daily paper, but this would be unlikely to alter a person’s intrinsic opinions on large canvases of mallets; you might place sandbags around the perimeter of a library, but this would not change the extreme flammability of most novels and guidebooks. If, however, you are the city’s former sixth most important financial advisor and you have just been robbed of the opportunity to watch three spoilt children and their unfashionable associates burn to a crisp in a public place, you might have a slightly clearer plan in mind for taking your mind off your frustration. Esmé Squalor was never caught without a plan.

Swinging herself out of the battered car, Esmé’s heels clattered onto the pavement to tread a path she knew very well. The sight and feel of the wooden door on which she rapped her knuckles caused an equally familiar swoop in her stomach that a lesser woman might have identified as a delicious kind of nerves, as though she were an addict at the entrance of her opium den. Of course, she reflected as her somewhat claw-like nails tapped on the oak in front of her, it wasn’t as though she was addicted. Addiction would imply a lack of self-control and a certain amount of dependence on something other than herself, not something to which Esmé would readily admit. Nevertheless, if she had to wait any longer at the mouth of the den containing her own particular opiate, she might have to stoop to levels of desperation as yet undiscovered. She was just calculating the amount of upper body strength that would be necessary for her to hoist herself up the drainpipe to the window she knew from experience led to the bedroom when-

‘If I’d known I’d be getting a visit from the law, I’d have worn something a little more appropriate’ Esmé’s eyes jerked immediately back down to the doorway and she couldn’t stop her still-scarlet lips from curling into a smile at the sight that greeted her there. Clad only in a deep purple garment that Esmé would have called a robe if it had been long enough to merit it, Doctor Georgina Orwell presented a more welcome visage than the younger woman was prepared to admit. The vulpine eyes she knew so well did not meet hers but instead were tracking their way over the tight fit of Officer Luciana’s rather daring outfit.

‘Well then, obviously you’re not familiar with the positive effects of bribing an officer?’ Her favourite former optometrist had adopted an informal stance in the doorway but even as distracted as she was by the folds of violet silk that were winding round the doctor’s thighs, Esmé could tell that this casualness was not entirely genuine. The burn of frustration and fluttering of anticipation that she could feel in her stomach were reflected in Georgina’s eyes, although Esmé couldn’t imagine why; after all, it wasn’t as though Georgina had come tantalisingly close to watching the Baudelaire children go up in smoke. She didn’t have time to dwell on this, however, before a strong hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her inside.

‘I have to say, darling, I don’t hugely appreciate being manhandled like a common criminal. I am the’ Esmé paused for dramatic effect ‘ _authoritarian_ here after all’. She smirked, going to place a hand on her hip to show off her blue denim shirt to its best advantage but before she could display herself, a swift pressure exerted itself on her lower back and she felt herself colliding with firm, warm flesh. An equally warm mouth descended upon hers and Esmé tried her best to resist the sensations of her knees bucking. Just as she was reaching around to slide her fingers through soft brown hair, the eye doctor pulled back and surveyed her with what could only be described as a smirk on her face.

‘I’m so sorry, I interrupted you. I believe you were saying something about being an authoritarian? Please, do elaborate’ Esmé had never been a fan of metaphor but in that moment, she couldn’t think of a more accurate description for Georgina’s face than ‘the cat who had got the cream’.

‘Hmm?’ Esmé shook her head slightly; the flames of her frustration were being fanned rather than doused. ‘Yes, well, perhaps I’ve had rather enough of having to lay down the law’. Detaching herself from the arms in which she was entangled, Esmé finished what she had begun before becoming entirely distracted; she ran a sleekly manicured hand down her own side, coming to rest on the curve of her hip. From the look in Georgina’s eye, the demonstration had its intended effect.

‘I was just going to ask what this fetching little ensemble was in aid of’ unlike Esmé’s red talons, Georgina’s nails were shorter and painted a typical dark purple. Regardless of their length Esmé still felt a tremor as those nails trailed their way from her collarbone to the first fastening of her shirt and a gorgeously lined hand toyed with the button there.  
‘I might ask you the same question. Silk is terribly in, darling, but a little risqué for a night on your own, no?’ Esmé raised a painted eyebrow as her own hand reached out to stroke the soft ruffles that were enclosing the ivory neck she was so fond of.

‘I asked you first’ Georgina countered as she took advantage of Esmé's obvious fascination with her well-constructed garment to lean her head down and not-so-gently nip at her lover’s knuckle. ‘No, let me guess’ her voice was dangerously low as she tilted her head back up to focus on her a pair of gleaming eyes ‘You were having a little adventure with our… mutual friend. You were in this ridiculous get-up as part of yet another ridiculous plot to steal the fortune of those ridiculous children and once again, it didn’t work. Am I correct so far?’

Esmé Squalor would never stand for accusations of sulkiness, pettiness or any other ‘ness’ that implied a pout and a disgruntled expression. Nevertheless, there was no denying that her lower lip protruded slightly as she swept through the optometrist’s hallway and flung herself onto the couch in the anteroom. With a roll of her eyes, Georgina followed after her, pulling her robe closed where probing fingers had splayed it open.

‘I said, am I correct? Or by some miracle has one of his little dress-up games actually succeeded and you’re an even wealthier woman than you were a week ago? Because I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that if you had, you wouldn’t have shown up at my door looking like you were ready to set the whole street up in flames’ Esmé’s pout had progressed into a full-out scowl at Georgina’s commentary and she sat up on the black leather of the sofa, leaving room for the weight of her girlfriend to sink down next to her.

‘As I understand it, you were more than willing to go along with one of those ‘dress-up games’ when you thought it was going to keep you in eye-glasses and sensible heels for the rest of your days’ Esmé challenged, not pausing for breath when Georgina looked prepared to make a rebuttal ‘So I don’t really think, my darling, that you’re in a position to be criticising what I might or might not be doing when you’re not around.’

Georgina was about to retort that at least she hadn’t been skulking around in anything other than her own lab coat or feigning a thoroughly unconvincing accent when she was distracted by the warmth of Esmé’s hand coming to rest on her lower thigh.

‘Nevertheless’ the younger woman continued, fixing Georgina with a look that kept her as firmly fixed in place as the hand on her leg did ‘I can’t deny that I didn’t get everything I wanted in the disgusting little town we were stuck in. Georgie’ she said with a shift closer to the other woman ‘You’ve no idea how close we came to watching those thieving little brats burn to a crisp, it would have been so’ at this, Esmé's thumb started sweeping small circles over the material covering Georgina’s thigh ‘ _satisfying_ ’.

As most readers will know, the feeling of satisfaction is almost the opposite of the feeling of frustration. You are satisfied when your hopes and expectations have been fulfilled, such as when you trounce your competition fair and square in a game of croquet, or when a certain newspaper formally retracts its description of your exhibition as ‘derivative and dull’. And for Esmé Squalor, she was fairly certain that only something very special could turn the frustration inside her into satisfaction. Luckily for her, Georgina Orwell knew it as well.

‘Only you, Esmé, could make it sound like an injustice that you didn't get to murder three children’ Georgina hoped her voice didn’t sound quite as unsteady to Esmé as it did to her; it wouldn’t do to relinquish all pretence of detachment so early in the evening. ‘You really have turned your filthy little proclivity for getting off on violence into an art form'.

‘Not _violence_ , darling, just… payment in kind’ Esmé’s voice was as silky as the cloth she was stroking as her hand travelled further up Georgina’s thigh ‘Although ‘art form’ does sound delightful, I’ve always thought I ought to be someone’s muse’.

‘So you should be. As a matter of fact, you’re inspiring me with all kinds of ideas as we speak’ Georgina caught Esme’s hand before it could sweep inside the folds of her robe and instead pulled the blonde towards her, her knee sliding between Esmé’s own thighs.

‘Is that so? Care to share with the rest of the class?’ Esmé asked, hand entwining with Georgina's. ‘Actually, speaking of ideas, you never told me why you were wearing your own fetching little costume this evening and really, the mind races'.

‘Well, darling’ Georgina drawled in a sharp imitation of the woman holding her hand ‘As I was all by myself and you were oh-so-busy with your _boyfriend_ , I may have been having a little recreation of my own and I decided to be comfortable. I know you're unfamiliar with the concept of clothing that isn't so tight it leaves imprints on the skin but we're not all quite so masochistic’. Esmé narrowed her eyes, avoiding Georgina's obvious laying of bait.

‘I would be fascinated to hear what you mean by recreation, Georgina? I thought your leisure time was devoted to pouring over those dusty old books and making sure your roots weren't showing.’

‘I had no idea you'd painted such a domestic little picture of me in your head, Esmé. I hate to disappoint you but I'm afraid my chosen activity for this evening was nothing quite so tame' despite herself, Esmé leaned forward, her eyes glistening. ‘You know how it is, when you're sleeping alone for interminable periods of time- or perhaps you don't' Georgina paused for a moment to examine Esmé’s face over the top of her glasses ‘Nevertheless, I'm sure you're familiar with the need for a little self-indulgence.’

‘And what, may I ask, was the stimulus for this oh-so-special alone time?’ Subtlety had never been Esmé’s strong point, Georgina noted, and this particular question was fishing for a specific answer as plainly as the nose on Esmé’s very pretty face. Georgina had never been one for unquestioningly giving other people what they wanted but the unmistakable look of hunger in the eyes of the woman sitting opposite her, she found the words spilling out of her mouth before her mind had a chance to stop it.

‘Oh, I was thinking about a certain acquaintance of mine; beautiful, brilliant, blonde. The way she wears her clothes so exasperatingly tight, even I have some difficulty keeping my hands to myself' Esmé Squalor prided herself on knowing when she was onto a good thing so she bit back an expression of derision at the idea of Georgina having exemplary self-control and instead focused on scratching her thumbnail in small circles over Georgina's palm while she talked. ‘Thinking about a particular look she gets in her eyes when she really, really wants something, that certainly sped things along. And, of course, thinking about her extreme lack of ability to contain herself. You know, you wouldn't believe the noises she makes, moaning like she's getting paid for it before I've barely had the chance to touch her. Then you'd think the world was ending when I finally do get my fingers in her cunt- ow!’

The flickering of frustration in Esmé’s stomach had become so unbearable that almost without knowing what she was doing, she had sunk her nails into Georgina's palm like the bird's talons they'd been sharpened to resemble and there wasn't much of a difference in colour between these claws and the small beads of blood they had caused to spring up from Georgina's flesh. The look in Georgina's face was almost as arousing as her words and as Esmé had never been one to truly appreciate a languid pace, she eagerly turned her mouth to Georgina's only for her excitement to turn to exasperation as the older woman pulled away after mere moments and pressed an uncharacteristically gentle kiss to her temple.

‘I know patience has never been your greatest virtue, Esmé, but if you just hold still you might find it's to your advantage' smoothing her hands over Esmé’s shoulders, Georgina shifted forward until her knee was enclosed almost at the apex of her thighs.

‘And here I thought you preferred me to leave my virtues at the door, darling' Georgina managed to ignore the breathlessness that was very apparent in Esmé’s voice as she methodically unbuttoned the faux-police uniform to examine the supple flesh beneath it. Despite every instinct in her body screaming at her to move, Esmé managed to stay still while Georgina slipped the blue shirt from her shoulders.

‘Now, what on earth would give you that idea?’

‘I don't know; past experience, general wisdom, fiendishly well-honed intuition and...’ before Georgina could even roll her eyes at Esmé’s bragging, the younger woman's hand had found her way to the wet heat between Georgina's thighs and she had to stop her eyes rolling for a completely different reason. ‘I would call that a rather good indicator, wouldn't you?’

‘Inconclusive evidence' that pretence of detachment was now well and truly out the window and Georgina had forgotten why she'd ever felt the need for it in the first place as two of Esmé’s long fingers stroked over her entrance while her other hand pushed Georgina's leg to the side. ‘Too many outlying factors'.

‘Oh really? Considering you were thinking about me, teasing me, touching me and now  _my_ fingers are in _your_ cunt...’ Esmé was as good as her word, fingers plunging inside Georgina’s extremely well-lubricated entrance as she spoke ‘That seems like fairly conclusive evidence to me, Doctor Orwell’.

‘Fuck’ was about all Georgina could manage in terms of a rebuttal as she squirmed under Esmé's rather expert touch. Despite her teasing comments, she hadn't actually gotten around to her scheduled evening activities before her visitor arrived and the part of her brain that wasn't just thinking more was quite impressed at how fast she'd gotten so ridiculously wet. The not-so-gentle movement of Esmé’s hand combined with the reminder of just how desperately she'd been wanting exactly this caused Georgina to be utterly incapable of stopping herself from letting out a deep groan.

‘Now who's moaning like they're getting paid for it?’ The edge of triumph in Esmé's voice was unmistakable and Georgina wondered hazily exactly how she'd completely lost control of this situation but didn't care to dwell on the matter as the pad of her lover's thumb pressed down on the bundle of nerves between her thighs and she felt herself gasping for breath like a drowning woman.

‘You know, for a woman with- _oh_ \- with so much leisure time, you seem to be in an awful hurry’

‘I've been thinking about this for ages, Georgie, you can't even imagine. All the way back to the city today I was imagining you coming for me, that fucking gorgeous face you make when you don't want me to know how good I make you feel but you just can't stop yourself, and you make those delicious noises' Esmé paused for a moment as the hand that had been circling Georgina's clit travelled upwards to scratch its nails over her hipbone and the closest thing to a plaintive moan she'd ever heard from the doctor's lips was encouragement enough to swiftly resume her previous ministrations. ‘Honestly, darling, the number of times I nearly crashed the car because I was thinking about how beautifully wet you get for me; consider yourself lucky I made it back here at all'.

‘I do’ Georgina's words were a hiss through firmly clenched teeth ‘consider myself exceptionally lucky'. At this, Esmé's satisfied smile turned into a full-blown beam and she grabbed Georgina's hip to pull her closer before setting back to her task in earnest. The frustration that had overridden her system earlier in the day was channelled into single-minded, goal-oriented determination and that goal was to make Georgina Orwell come so hard that the only word she remembered of any of the impressive array of languages she spoke was ‘Esmé’. Judging from the way Georgina’s nails were scratching at the leather of the sofa and how tightly screwed shut her eyes were, Esmé wasn't too far from completing her to-do list.

‘That's it, darling, you look so gorgeous like this, I could devour you. Open your eyes, Georgie, I need you to look at me when I make you come' Georgina had always thought that the legend of Helen of Troy was an absurdity; that however beautiful or alluring a woman was (and she had undoubtedly known her fair share of beautiful and alluring women), she was never going to be worth going to war over. In this moment, however, as she looked into Esmé Squalor’s eyes with their blown out pupils and felt the pressure between her legs become almost unbearable as Esmé's fingers moved faster and rougher with every passing second, Georgina began to understand why someone would sacrifice thousands of lives and everything one had for the sake of a really good fuck. This thought process didn't quite make its way out of her mind and instead was replaced by:

‘Esmé... I need... oh, Christ’

‘Yes darling, tell me what you need’ as Esmé's thumb pressed down harder, it was apparent that Georgina was physically incapable of telling her anything at all ‘You need to come, hmm? That's right, Georgina, that's right, you love it when I fuck you like this, don't you?’

Luckily for Georgina, the question was rhetorical as mere seconds later, her hips were lifting off the couch in a way she later reflected she didn't even know she could move anymore, and her open mouth emitted a cry that barely registered as human. She could feel the slightly slower movements of Esmé's fingers as the blonde fucked her through the intensity until both Georgina's breathing and Esmé's hand had slowed. When she opened her eyes and lifted her head, she was met with the sight of a very smug Esmé sucking thoroughly on the index and middle finger of her right hand and if Georgina had been a lesser woman, she would have admitted to a moan escaping her lips at this particular tableau.

‘Well darling, how does that rank up against an evening spent in the pleasure of your own company?’ Esmé's still-clothed thighs were pressed firmly together and she couldn't recall ever being so aroused in her life. The sight of Georgina looking so thoroughly fucked was more satisfying even than the sight of still smouldering pile of ashes and the process of getting her there was so much more fun.

‘I hate to have to repeat myself but the evidence is inconclusive' Georgina muttered, her hand drifting down Esmé's bare side, rubbing a soothing circle on the skin of her ribcage when the blonde made a noise of indignation. ‘While I deeply appreciate what a fast and effective worker you are, Esmé, I don't think we can really measure the half hour you've been here up against the entire evening I had planned for myself, do you?’ The crease in Esmé's forehead smoothed out as she caught Georgina's meaning and relaxed back into the sofa.

‘No, I quite understand what you mean' she purred ‘After all, I wouldn't want your study to be supported by inaccurate data, Doctor. Can you think of a solution?’ Georgina's hand came down from Esmé's ribcage to rest on the fastening of her trousers.

‘I believe I can, Ms. Squalor' instead of undoing the button she was playing with, Georgina hooked her fingers through one of Esmé's belt loops and pulled the other woman to her feet as Georgina stood, ignoring the wobbling sensation running through her legs. ‘As far as I can tell, our only option is repeated testing in a controlled environment' she jerked her head towards the stairs ‘And to avoid any inconsistencies in the results, I suggest we get you seen to as soon as possible'.

Esmé's smile was wide, self-satisfied and completely genuine. As she followed Georgina up the stairs, the previous disappointments of the day were the furthest thing from her mind. What were sapphires, crows and a few more additions to the collection of skeletons in her closet when compared to the metronomic movement of Georgina's hips or the way even artificial light caught the purple silk of her robe? Esmé rarely bothered to reflect on any form of emotion, her own in particular, but she figured that if she could maintain the warm feeling of satisfaction enveloping her as she reached out to entwine her fingers with Georgina's, she would quite happily forego even the most sure-fire evil schemes for a considerable amount of time.

Well, maybe a little scheming on the side wouldn't do any harm. After all, her birthday was coming up.


End file.
